


Chaos Theory

by Candipeach26



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candipeach26/pseuds/Candipeach26
Summary: PS David Budd leads a one-man siege on Pascoe House, with very grave consequences.Home Secretary Julia Montague deals with the fallout from the attack, and is forced to confront the true depth of her feelings for her PPO in the aftermath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again, Candi back. Wanted to get a lil' bit of this out now. David confronts the sniper on the roof, but it isn't Andy Apsted. The chapters for this one will be relatively brief, and switch back and forth between David and Julia's viewpoints. It all belongs to Jed. 
> 
> This one ain't pretty, folks. Buckle in. Thanks so much for reading.  
> -C.

David couldn’t breathe. 

Couldn’t move. 

Couldn’t talk. 

The comm in his ear crackled with static, with harried requests for him to respond, to radio in his location, to copy and give a breakdown of his status.  His lips moved, but his voice wouldn’t carry.

His vision was failing him.  Everything was growing distant, going gray.  Shadows closing in.  The grate of the roof platform looked as if it were receding from view.  He couldn’t focus his eyes, slowly trying to blink away the tears that had gathered with very little success.

He could barely think. 

His mind grazed cherished images of Ella, of Charlie, but couldn’t grasp them entirely.  Their young, rounded faces, slipping in and out of view.  Their eyes, so much like his own, so much like Vicky’s, refusing to sharpen into crystal clarity.

No.  David could do nothing but _feel_.

The life, his life, draining out of him in strong, sure pulses.  Warm red gushing, flooding his torso, pooling beneath him, gathering in the notch between his clavicles, coating his rapidly-cooling flesh in garish fashion. 

The incredible amount of pain, the unreal pressure on his chest.  Crushing him into absolute nothingness.  

It was excruciating.  He trembled with it, his fists clenched tightly as he felt his body convulsing in utter agony.  Fought it desperately with his fading energies.  David had experienced so much pain in his past that he thought he would’ve handled this better.  That somehow the next time around he’d be more dignified in his suffering.  Less terrified.  Handle his own impending demise with a calm, distant resolve.

He couldn’t have possibly been more wrong.

* * *

 

David saw this coming. 

At the precise second he’d rounded the final corner on the roof landing, David knew everything.  Foresaw this exact outcome.  Predicted precisely how it would all play out.

He spotted the sniper immediately.  Knew the exact specs of the rifle the sniper held just before he’d fired it.  Knew its weight, the rounds it carried, the exact caliber of bullet it used, the speed at which the bullet would travel.  Knew the pressure required to fire off a round, the power it possessed, the insane amount of damage it could do at close range.

And David knew, without question, that he was too close to save himself. 

Much too close.

His ballistic vest could’ve withstood a round at about ten meters, sustain several more at twenty.   Would have redistributed the force of the bullet instead of allowing it to pierce through.  Such a distance would’ve merely knocked him off his feet, caused some serious bruising, maybe cracked a rib or two in the process.

But the gunman had been less than five meters away.  The caliber of his round much too significant at that distance to be deflected.

And so he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his vest would fail.

He’d just have to take the sniper out before it happened.  No other choice existed.

Time slowed.  He caught a quick glance of the sniper’s eyes, gray and cold and narrowed.  Set deep within a middle-aged, flushed face bathed in sweat.  Lips pursed tightly into a scowl.  The shooter’s hand barely shook as he raised the rifle, aiming it directly at David even as those deadened eyes widened at the sight of the rifle aimed right back at him.  His finger moved to squeeze the trigger.

David didn’t hesitate.  Exhaled hard.  Aimed for his skull, right between the eyes, and pulled the trigger immediately.

He felt the impact of no less than three bullets striking his chest just as he saw the back of the shooter’s head blown to pieces.  Heard the lifeless body hit the floor just before his own did. Nothing braced his fall.  David landed hard on his back, gracelessly, on gritty concrete.  The pain seized him then, fierce and unrelenting; he gasped for air in desperate heaves, unable to breathe as the fall served to knock the wind out of him and the pressure on his lungs felt unbearable.  

His hands came up slowly, tremulously, to his chest.  He felt exactly three holes, center mass, fresh wounds still warm, his palms stained a glossy crimson. David couldn’t tell how many bullets had fully pierced the vest, only that the vest had slowed them down significantly.

Which meant that the ones that had gone through were buried deeply in his chest.  There were no exit wounds.

And therefore very little chance of survival.

_Shit._

* * *

 

So David knew this was it. 

Even as he heard officers and medics begin to flood the scene, yelling out commands, crowding him, calling his name again and again, willing a response he was far past the point of being able to give.  He saw lights shine through eyes that had long since lost the ability to distinguish anything else, felt faintly the sensation of hands quickly tearing off his shirt, cutting through the vest, fastening a mask over his face.  Someone was pressing insistently on his chest, hurting it more, and he couldn’t find the strength to cry out, to plead with them to stop, to tell them it was likely a wasted effort.

 _This was it_ , he thought silently as the world began to rush by him, surrounding voices becoming even less distinct as more and more of his body succumbed to numbness.  His legs were the first to go, followed by his arms.  His torso was just a blur of endless, throbbing agony.  David felt soft droplets of cold rain falling lightly upon his face, one of the last sensations he’d ever recall before the encroaching shadows swallowed him whole.

And for the life of him, he could not explain why his final, fleeting thought before the enduring darkness claimed him was of Julia.

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for being patient while I get school in gear; appreciate it, and loved all your comments on the first chapter. Julia gets a bit more venting space here as she deals with the aftermath. There's cell-phone texts in italics in this chapter. Enjoy, and thanks for reading.  
> -Candi

 

* * *

 

- _Three shots.  Two went through his vest. Collapsed lung. Critical blood loss. Still operating. K.-_

 

* * *

 

Julia stared at herself in the gilded bathroom mirror.  At the paleness of her face, its stark features drawn, bleak, empty.  Eyes glassy and swollen with tears she blatantly refused to continue to shed.  Dark hair partly damp, stringy, in tumultuous disarray.  Her lip quivered.  Chin trembling just a little. Her frame slumped ominously.

_You’ll be fine._

She bit her lip hard at the memory, closing her eyes.  A single rogue tear escaped, sliding plaintively down her cheek.

David’s parting words, perhaps his last ever spoken to her.  Echoing in her mind, mocking her now in the silent room.

Julia wasn’t fine. 

Sure, she was alive.  Which hadn't been a guarantee by any stretch just hours before. 

And the one man, the ONLY one, who’d ensured that she now had the ability to stand here, alive and breathing, was now on the brink of doing neither of those things himself.

_You’ll be fine._

No, Julia wouldn’t be fine. 

She’d have to go through the motions, of course.  Didn’t have a choice.  Would obviously do her job, keep up appearances.  Give proper condolences to Terry’s family.  Run the meetings, make the speeches, create the necessary links to the attack to push RIPA through.  Create sympathy amid the constituencies, garner the proper support.  Put on a brave and stoic face for the nation at large. 

Show no fear, above all else.

But Julia knew she wouldn’t be fine. 

Not after what she’d seen, what she’d heard, what she'd experienced and suffered that day.

Not after being crouched in that car for what felt like hours, screaming herself hoarse, covered head to toe in Terry’s blood and terrified out of her mind.  Her welfare wholly dependent on David's swift actions, her entire life held in his unbelievably capable hands for long, harrowing moments of time. 

Ushered hurriedly out of the car by an equally harried Kim, head down, stumbling quickly to the service entrance and down the stairs to a secured office.  Unable to catch her breath, every sound making her flinch harder, the terror in her gut raising to astronomical levels as she saw Kim’s face fracture with alarm, the constable’s pleas for David to respond, to acknowledge his position and status, going entirely unanswered for minutes on end.

Hearing the terrifying words ‘officer down, officer down!’ crackle over the open radio for the very first time as backup finally rushed onto the scene.  Kim and Julia had looked at each other then, the dawning horror on their faces nearly palpable as they took in the sickening news, knowing exactly what it meant.

Knowing it was David.  Knowing he’d been seriously hurt.  Knowing there’d been no other officer up there to help him, to cover him, have his back during the ordeal.

The mad rush of medics and coppers, storming the building by force.  They could hear the commotion above them, especially as they wheeled the sergeant out in swift order, the chaos intensifying as they called out vital signs and commands, ventilating him, trying desperately to stabilize the young officer.

It was soon made clear that David had less than a puncher’s chance at survival.  That he’d taken out the gunman with one shot at incredible cost to his own welfare.  Julia would never, ever forget the fleeting look of utter anguish that broke across Kim’s features at the news before she marshalled her face immediately back into professional order.

“Escorting Lavender out of the building now.”

She’d been unceremoniously transported to the safehouse in complete, silent shock.  Given a tasteless meal, some fresh clothes, her briefcases.  Kim had promised to keep her updated as she found out more, face still stony and eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears as she’d closed the hotel door and departed for the hospital.

She’d kept her word, for better or for worse.  Each buzz of Julia’s phone brought news that only worsened by the minute.  That only served to only add to the heavy sense of dread permeating every corner of her life right now.

That continued to make clear, beyond a reasonable doubt, that her final glimpse of PS David Budd, face bloodied and determined, reassuring her even as he prepared to personally hunt down the man who’d attempted to take her life, was to be her last memory of him alive.

- _Skip’s gone into cardiac arrest.  They’re doing all they can. K.-_

No, Julia wouldn’t be fine.

Not for a very long time.

* * *

 

Anger.

That felt better right now.  Much easier to wield than the senseless grief she’d been wallowing in since that afternoon, in any case.

And Julia knew exactly who to start with.

David Budd.

Police Sergeant David Fucking Budd of the Metropolitan Police Department and his bloody stupid fucking heroics.  His brave, selfless, soldier-with-a-heart-of-gold, Grade-A **_BULLSHIT._**

Rushing into that building by himself, utterly headstrong and foolish, with nothing but a flimsy vest and a gun.  Willingly taking on that level of threat alone, for no good reason, and suffering the fatal consequences all by himself.

What, exactly, had he been trying to prove?  He’d already saved her, gotten them both out of harm’s way.  Could’ve waited for backup, could’ve taken a minute to converse with his team, could’ve done literally ANYTHING ELSE but charge up there like some avenging, impervious idiot and get himself killed in the process.

Christ.  She truly fucking **hated** him right now.

Julia was well aware that it was vastly easier to hate David in that moment than to mourn him.  To heap scorn on his actions, deride his sacrifice, mock his choices, rather than dwell on just how utterly devastating losing him would feel. 

To give into this anger meant buying herself a little more time to fully close a heart that had already begun dwelling in forbidden possibility.  That had started, in earnest, to flutter at the first sight of him in the morning.  Respond to the mere sound of his voice.  Skip a few beats whenever the scent of his aftershave wafted past her.  Race quickly at the heady weight of that serious gaze, trained so intently on her for hours on end. 

Julia had reconciled her physical attraction to him long ago, practically from the outset.  David was an undeniably handsome man, and she had no qualms about recognizing his affect on her in that regard.  But she had also begun, intentionally or not, to rely on his calm, steadying presence in ways she could’ve never anticipated.  And being faced with the prospect of a new ‘normalcy’ bereft of that presence was unthinkable.  Hurt way too much to ever comprehend.

So she willingly gave into the anger instead.  Allowed it to swallow her grief whole.  Sat with it until her own eyes dried up, became flinty with suppressed ire.  Julia let it harden her emotions, let it be a lifeline of sorts to being able to function again as she took a seat at the small desk and began to work, make calls, do everything in her power to avoid feeling anything resembling the real depths of her sorrow.

Fuck that.  Playing the hero held obvious consequences.  It was his own fault.

* * *

 

_-He’s out of surgery. Still critical.  Not looking good. K.-_

 

* * *

 She couldn’t sit still.

Julia fixed a cup of tea, sat with it for approximately fifteen seconds.  Sipped once, put it down.

Stood up.  Paced.  Head in hands, feeling the telltale pressure of tears threatening again, her throat aching and tight with the pain of holding them back.  She rubbed at her face with a frustrated hand, angry at herself.  _Stop it._

There was no way work could or would get done that night.  She’d started off well and failed miserably at keeping any sort of momentum going, too distracted to be productive in the least. 

Julia Montague was still very much the Home Secretary of the United Kingdom post-attack, still the most powerful woman in the current political landscape.  The bastards, whoever they were, had lost.  Had failed to kill her, to bring her down.

And yet the last thing she wanted to do was open a file, or sign off on a law, or do anything even remotely resembling her job right now. 

Julia sat back down, unable to think clearly, her angry veneer all but dissipated as her mind kept wandering to him.  Wringing hands together that trembled uncontrollably.

Her phone buzzed again.

- _Skip’s lost too much blood.  Slipped into a coma.  Docs not optimistic. K.-_

* * *

She was going to lose him. 

She knew that now.

_Oh God.  David._

A titanic wave of grief doubled her over hard without warning, Julia folding in on herself on the couch, body contorted with anguish.  A fist pressed tightly to her mouth to suppress the high, keening wail threatening to emerge. She shook mightily with the effort, unable to hold back the sobs anymore, unwilling to pull herself together for long, long moments of time.

_No.  No…not like this.  God, no._

_Please._

* * *

 Julia made the call at half past midnight, refusing to keep up appearances any longer. 

“PC Knowles.” Her voice sounded exhausted, thin.

“Kim.  Thank you for keeping me in the know.  I need a favor.” 

Silence for three beats.

“I know what you’re asking.  Ma’am, you can’t.  I won’t. The risks involved—”

“I know.  I’ll take them.”

“There’s no way I could—”

“Find a way please, Kim.  I need to get there.  Now.”

“My top priority is to keep you safe, ma’am.”

“Then do so in transit.  Figure it out.  As soon as possible.  I think we’re both aware this is a time sensitive issue.”

“The skipper wouldn’t want you to put yourself in dan—”

“He’s not the one making the decisions now, is he!?”

Julia’s heated, cutting retort felt like a slap, ringing out over the line. 

Kim didn’t respond.  A long moment passed, neither of them saying more.

Julia finally found her voice.  Softened it considerably in the ensuing silence.

“He saved my life, Kim.”

“I know.  Yours and others.”

“And now he’s losing his.”

“That’s the job.  With respect, ma’am, you’re jeopardizing exactly what he risked his life for.”

Kim made an excellent point.  And Julia’d be damned if she’d ever concede it.

“I’m coming there, Kim.  Either it’s done via official channels on your terms, or it’s done on mine.  Within the hour.”

A long, weary sigh.

“Give me ten minutes.  I’ll text you instructions.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

In the end, she got her way.  She usually did.

But Julia hadn’t been ready.

Nothing could’ve prepared her for the sight she beheld once she stood just outside his room at nearly two in the morning, peering in muted shock through thick panes of glass.

David lay there.  Practically unrecognizable.  Her strong, silent protection officer, he of the square shoulders and sharp jawline and beautifully expressive eyes, reduced to _this._

His face was still.  Utterly unmoving.  Waxen skin practically the color of slate beneath harsh lighting, all signs of life and health drained completely away.  Dark circles ringed his tightly-closed eyes.  His normally neat curls were messy, sticking up haphazardly and matted in places, no doubt due to a hasty effort to wash the blood out.  A sickly sheen of sweat coated his brow.  Lips dry, cracked, forced open to accommodate tubes as the ventilator breathed for him, his heavily-bandaged chest mechanically rising and falling in time to the soft susurration of the machine by his bedside.  His torso was a mass of woven gauze, dots of blood seeping through near his heart.  Tubes and wires snaked all across his body, bags of blood and antibiotics being administered in measured doses.  Body frail and lifeless beneath thin, worn sheets.

_No_.

Julia wanted to scream at the hideous, wrenching sight of him.  Wanted to wail.  Wanted to retch, to just sink down to the floor and heave out her guts.  Bury her head in her hands and sob uncontrollably for days on end.

David had done this for her.  Had literally sacrificed his life to save hers.  At a most horrific cost.

“Ma’am.”

Kim stood by her side, mouth trembling, unable to tear her eyes away either from the devastating sight.  Julia bit down every single ounce of emotion she possessed, steadfastly not giving anything away.

“How long has he been comatose?”

“Just over three hours.”

“Prognosis?  Who are his doctors?  Can I speak with them?”

“Ma’am, they will only speak to next of kin.  I know a nurse here, that's how I've been able to get news of his condition off-the record.  He…” Kim swallowed for a moment before continuing on.  “The skip has a slim chance of survival.  But they don’t sound hopeful.”

Julia turned to Kim fully then, trusting her to tell the honest truth, needing to get to the bottom of this.  Her mind was churning, her gut sensing there was much more here to uncover.  “Why do you suppose backup took so long to arrive?”

Kim gaped for a second, clearly surprised by the question.  “It…wasn’t safe for unarmed officers to enter the square.  ARVs were en route to the scene.”

“Yes, but PS Budd was left to fend for himself, devise a plan on-the-spot to remove me from imminent danger.  Your entire team was left to deal with the whims of a mad sniper in Central London for an ungodly period of time,” Julia reminded her, gaining steam as her anger began to rise again, trending in a different direction.  “Who would give the order to withhold armed response units?  Terry was murdered.  A cabinet minister was being actively hunted down in broad daylight.  Innocent civilians were at risk. Any delay in police response is completely unacceptable.”

Kim looked her in the eye.  Told her the department chiefly responsible for response coordination.  And Julia saw absolute red from that point on, jaw clenched tightly as she returned a gaze hard with determination to the pitiful sight of her principal protection officer barely clinging to life. 

It wasn’t David’s fault.  It had _never _been his fault.

And now she had the right person in the crosshairs.  She was sure of it.

_Anne Sampson._

There was to be an emergency meeting in less than five hours detailing the response to the attack.  Julia would chair.  And Anne Sampson would be forced to beg for mercy if there existed even the slightest chance she was in any way responsible for PS Budd’s current dire condition.

Julia Montague held **power**.  Lots of it.

And she would spare absolutely no effort in taking her down. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks so much for all the support for the story! Next chapter's here. David's inner monologue, which is most of the chapter, is italicized; other characters' dialogues are in regular print. Please do enjoy.  
> -Candi

* * *

_He was back in Scotland._

_In the heart of his youth.  Not yet a man, but very close._

_Walking alone through gusty moors.  Winding his way amid patches of bramble and trees, thick mist hovering low in the chilly morning air.  His old, busted-up brown boots soaked with dew, body warm and beginning to steam beneath a worn hunter-green jacket.  His fingers threaded through the holes inside of his pockets.  His dark, curly hair long and meaningfully unkempt, sweeping into his eyes with every young breeze._

_The utter freedom he felt, there in his absolute solitude.  Away from the damning eyes of a father who never saw enough in his son to justify anything close to affection.  Away from the loving, troubled eyes of a mother whose heart was always kind and true, always in the right place, even if she could never seem to protect him._

_Away from the poverty of his neighborhood, the poverty of the minds and lives there._

_Here, alone, he belonged to nobody but himself.  His thoughts purely his own.  His yearnings valid and honest and worthy of respect._

_His da had laughed, snorted directly in his face with real and gleeful scorn, at the hesitantly-expressed notion of him applying to medical school, becoming a doctor._

_“You’ll make nothing of yourself, David.  And I’ll not waste a penny on ye.”_

_Not that there had ever been a penny to waste.  His father’s weekly pint tab made sure of that._

_The army it was, then._

_He could live with that for a couple years.  Get the hell away from home, away from that bloody bastard.  Send money to his mum.  Save up enough to marry Vick before long, get them a decent flat to live in between tours.  She’d always deserved so much more than him, than what he had to offer._

_But it was a plan._

_His gleaming eyes traveled the distant horizon, the clouds breaking just enough to let the first few rays of sun pierce through the thick, grey morning sky._

* * *

“Vitals still markedly depressed, but holding steady.  No improvement, which is worrisome.  He didn’t rouse once last night, is that correct?”

“Yes, doctor.”

_He wished they’d be a little less worried, sound a little less concerned._

_For the first time in as long as he could even remember, he felt no pain.  Nothing at all._

_It was wonderful._

_He’d forgotten what this felt like: the absence of pain.  The peace.  The quiet._

_No gunshots ringing out in his mind at odd moments of the day, making his heart race uncontrollably at the imagined proximity.  No more tremors he couldn't control.  No more nasty nightmares, no old war buddies haunting him at night, no private wars to wage at all against the gruesome images of bodies ravaged by bullets or bombs or fire, or all of the above.  No war to wage against the sensation of being on fire himself, smelling his own flesh cook in the arid desert landscape full of smoke and screams and the distinct sounds of death._

_Wishing for death himself as he’d abruptly come to, on his belly on a dirty cot that reeked of urine, seizing and screaming for bloody mercy as the nurses held him down to clean and debride his burns for the first of many harrowing sessions.  The taste of his own tears along the seam of his mouth becoming all too familiar each night in the darkness of the crowded, hot infirmary tent._

_He remembered it all._

_But none of the pain accompanied the memories.  None whatsoever._

_Bliss._ _  
_

_He was far too cynical to ever believe in such a concept, had seen and experienced too much in his life to ever believe such a state could be achieved._

_But this?  This had to come pretty damn close._

_This lovely, approaching darkness seemed to offer so much.  Yielded so much peace, so much comfort.  Beckoned him with the promise of being pain-free forever._

_He wanted to go._

* * *

“David?  David…I don’t know if you can hear me.  The kids want to see you.  Ella, you…you can squeeze his hand.  You too, Charlie.  It’s alright, love.”

_Brighton._

_The sea dunes, round and wavy and perfect.  Long strands of grass swaying, bent by gentle winds.  The sun high and proud in a flawless blue sky, sparing no inch of pale British skin from its glorious heat.  Ella was at his feet, all soft brown curls and big blue eyes, rolling around happily in the sand, picking up pebbles and naming each one in a loud, sing-song voice.  Charlie was a joyous, lively weight in his arms, chubby legs squirming as he held fast to his daddy’s neck, cherubic cheeks already flushed red as the tiny hat he wore blew backward, exposing a few feathery wisps of jet-black hair atop an otherwise soft, smooth pate._

_Their giggles carried over the din as he took Ella’s hand in his and led the three of them closer to the shore.  The waves licked close at Ella’s feet;  she shrieked, letting go of his hand and running back up the dune to Vicky’s waiting arms.  He watched her lift their daughter, swing her around, hold her close.  Their eyes met in that instant, her smile so warm and loving as she regarded him that he'd felt his heart swell close to bursting._

_Sublime._

_That. That had been his bliss.  All he’d ever wanted._

_If only it could’ve lasted._

_That warmth between them had gone cold long, long ago.  Their love undergoing a slow, agonizing death of attrition._

_And he felt nothing now.  Absolutely nothing._

_It was better this way._

_He wanted to go._

* * *

“Daddy, please wake up.”

_But Daddy’s not in pain anymore, Charlie._

_Don’t cry, big man._

_Please._

_It’s going to be okay._

_Daddy’s going to be okay now._

* * *

“Mrs. Budd, the chances of recovery for your husband are…growing very slim.  He hasn’t responded to treatment in the past 24 hours.  His vitals are holding, but not improving, which is what we would’ve hoped to see at this point in time.  We…need to have you make some serious decisions regarding the life-saving measures we’re taking to keep him alive right now.”

_He wanted only the best for her._

_She, too, deserved a life without pain.  Without worrying about him, caring for him long-term, holding onto their dead marriage for the sake of being by his side at a difficult time._

_She deserved to explore her life with another man.  To continue her desire to see other people independent of his input, argument, jealousy, problems, or feelings about her choice.  To raise their children and create a new family for them as she saw fit.  She was an excellent mother, a kind and loving soul._

_Vicky had always deserved more than he could ever give her._

_His choice could only serve her well._

* * *

“David, I…”

_Julia._

* * *

_Words seemed to fail her for long, quiet moments.  Images assailed him in the duration._

_Of the first time they met, shaking hands curtly, her eyes barely meeting his as her chestnut curls swept across her face._

_The first time she’d ever looked at him with something approaching admiration.  Standing in her living room, extending her hand once again, sheepish guilt mingling with dawning respect in her gaze as she regarded him in a new, fascinated light._

_The first time warmth entered that very same steady, intelligent gaze.  She’d handed him his clean, pressed shirt, a dimple emerging in her smooth cheek as she strolled past him in her flat, the distinctive scent of her perfume trailing behind and idly enticing him as he watched her move easily through the hall to the kitchen._

_The first time he sensed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there was something more.  Something brewing between them that he couldn’t (and probably, shouldn’t ever) name._

_She’d wanted him back._

_Taken the necessary steps to ensure it.  Even going so far as to aid Charlie, help his family with a crucial issue that had caused real friction between he and Vick for years._

_Those beautiful dark eyes of hers, furtively peering at him through glass every few minutes that afternoon after his return.  Lingering on him as he’d escorted them out to the car that evening.  Finding him with marked relief as he aided her quick getaway from Rob’s untimely advances.  Fixated on him between sips of wine as she endeavored to sort him out, to gain a real sense of him, her interest obvious and mutually shared as this odd, undeniable attraction began to hum to life between them._

_He’d found himself smiling despite himself that night.  Flirting, even.  Enjoying her company.  Liking the woman he was beginning to discover behind the disparate ideals, the suspect politics, the buttoned-up suits and the media polish._

_Viewing her very, **very** differently.  And not at all in a professional way._

_Alone in her kitchen, his head bowed as the kettle heated up, wondering silently at this crazy turn of events.  What would happen if he…if they…if she wanted…if they could…_

“Thank you, David.  For saving my life.  For everything you’ve done for me.  God, this is so hard…”

_She was safe.  Fine, as he’d promised.  He’d done his job.  And that’s all that mattered to him._

“…I need you to know that I will do everything in my power to look after your family.  They’ll be taken care of, have everything they need to thrive.  Your wife’s quite beautiful.  As are Ella and Charlie.  Ella’s got her father’s eyes, lucky girl.”

_If he could’ve felt relief in that moment, it would’ve swept over him in a tidal wave.  He wanted to cry._

“I…consider myself fortunate to have known you, David.  You’re an incredible man in so many ways.  And no matter how this turns out, please know that…I’ll be here for you in any way you need me to be.  I care about you.  More than you’ll ever know.”

* * *

_The feeling was mutual.  Very much so._

_But surely they were both realists._

_They both had to know better.  Know nothing could’ve likely come of whatever had been kindled between them._

_And he still wanted to go.  Felt himself on the precipice, the tease of sweet, comforting darkness gathering around him like a thick, soft shroud, seeking to hold him close forevermore._

_But for the first time, he wondered._

_Wondered what it would mean to come back.  To wake up and have a woman like Julia Montague by his side.  Keep discovering what, exactly, had created that frisson of awareness between them that night in her den.  Elaborate on it.  Make a move, however tentative.  Touch her.  Kiss her.  Make love to her.  Hold and be held again.  Trust his heart to another._

_None of that was remotely certain._

_A positive outcome from that?  Even less so._

_He knew, intimately and in no uncertain terms, exactly what a broken heart felt like._

_But his lack of pain now, his body, mind, and soul finally having a chance at a calm, lasting peace?_

_That **was** a certainty. _

* * *

 “We’re removing the ventilator per your instructions, Ms. Budd.   He’ll still be monitored, but we’re stopping all other life-saving measures.  Sign here, please.”

* * *

_This was it._

_He had a choice to make now._

_The darkness whispered to him, seduced him, sought him out, promised an end to every kind of suffering he'd ever had._

_Bliss._

_It’s yours.  Finally._

_It’s what you truly want, isn’t it? An end to your pain._

_An end to all else, of course.  To Ella and Charlie, their smiles.  To pints with a friend.  To Julia, and the now-shifting terrain of their feelings for each other._

_But a real, concrete end to suffering, to pain.  A prospect too alluring to simply ignore._

_David found himself wavering. Struggling, as always, between duty and need._

_His body fading fast now, threatening to snatch the choice from him entirely._

_Still, just enough life left to stay._

_Or to go._

_He wanted..._

_He wanted to..._

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawd HAMMERCY. Midterms nearly broke me this week. Pray for me, ya'll. :)  
> In the meantime, please enjoy this new chapter of Chaos. Thank you all, new readers and old, for supporting the story and leaving such lovely comments. Truly appreciate all of you!  
> -Candi

* * *

 

- _No change with the skip.  Still in coma.  Dr may remove life support by end of day. K.-_

 

* * *

 

“We can reasonably conclude from radio recordings, interviews with PS Budd’s team and all relevant staff interviewed at Pascoe House that PS Budd, independent of the advisement of his team members and the Metropolitan Police control center, made the decision to maneuver his principal and team through the active shooter’s line of fire to the Pascoe House location approximately 1000 feet south of their initial position in Thornton Circus.  PS Budd, once again acting independently of any other police counsel, made the decision to enter Pascoe House brandishing a police-issued and authorized Heckler & Koch G36C assault rifle and requesting compliance from the public and staff in his search for the active shooter.  He ascended to the rooftop alone, according to witnesses and staff interviewed at the scene.”

Commander Sampson paused.  Took a small sip of water from the glass near her right hand.  The conference room remained silent as she cleared her throat, flipping a page over before resuming her report in an unaffected, brisk monotone.

“The account of what happened once PS Budd was escorted to the top level of Pascoe House by security becomes unclear, as PS Budd is obviously unavailable for comment at this time.  Based on photos taken from the surveillance footage of the cameras placed on the roof of Pascoe House, it appears PS Budd encountered the alleged shooter immediately upon entering the lower roof space. 

“The video footage, which is being withheld due to its graphic nature, depicts a shootout occurring between PS Budd and the alleged shooter.  PS Budd, under vital threat, delivered a head shot at close range, killing the suspect instantly as confirmed by the coroner’s report.   The suspect managed to fire at PS Budd before being killed, the sergeant sustaining two close-range gunshot wounds to the chest.  Though he was wearing a standard-issue ballistic vest, PS Budd was not at the optimal range for his vest to offer adequate protection against the ballistic threat in question.

“Officers arrived downstairs within two minutes to lock down the rest of the building and summon emergency personnel once they encountered PS Budd and the deceased suspect on the rooftop.  The area has been documented thoroughly.  Due to the nature of his fatal wound and the unclear images pulled from surveillance, it has been difficult to discover the identity of the suspect, but we are running DNA tests and physical identifying markers sent from the coroner’s office to determine identity and any possible links to terrorist organizations within the course of the morning.”

The commander ended her presentation then, closing the portfolio, her cool blue eyes gravely surveying the faces of those around her.  Nobody said anything for a beat, the general mood in the room quite dismal as the rain beat quietly against the windows.  Hunter-Dunne was, for once, not baiting her with any sly looks of disapproval, looking down at his folded hands on the table.  Mike Taylor was idly writing on a legal pad in front of him.  All other assistants and staff were quiet, faces unemotional, seemingly lost in their own thoughts as the silence went on.

And then there was the Home Secretary.

Julia Montague’s dark, piercing eyes, staring directly at her from across the room.

Her features telling a different story _entirely._

* * *

 

“Tell me, Commander Sampson,” Julia started, breaking the silence in a strong, clear tone.  All heads and eyes turned to her in unison, the clear coldness of her voice causing quite a few eyebrows to raise inquiringly.  “Who, specifically, organized the response to the Thornton Circus incident in your department?  I require names.”

Sampson’s brow furrowed.  “I…was alerted to the Thornton Circus incident via direct contact with my deputy commissioner and the control center.  We coordinated the appropriate response collaboratively with unarmed police on the ground and armed response units deployed in other parts of the city.”

“The...appropriate...response.”

Julia never once looked away from the commander as she repeated the words in quiet disbelief, her voice hard with barely-leashed contempt.  Sampson leaned forward, those cool eyes flaring just a little as she caught onto the undercurrent of blame in the room and prepared to defend herself.  Hunter-Dunne looked mildly piqued, shifting in his seat as he stared at the Home Secretary, fascinated by the tension manifesting between the two.

The commander hardly missed a beat, her retort at the ready.  “Home Secretary, the response was appropriate given the parameters of the incident and taking into account the actions of Police Sergeant Budd, who acted without the advisement of his team nor the control center in carrying out a solo siege on the Pascoe House gunman.  We were not made aware of his plan, and thus were not able to support or otherwise counter PS Budd’s actions.  He acted alone and without counsel.”

“These rogue actions of PS Budd that you refer to?  Are actions that ultimately led to my life being saved, as well as many more lives potentially being spared,” Julia interjected sharply, “and his choices and the outcome of this entire event would’ve been entirely different had your response had been even remotely adequate, let alone appropriate in any way.”

She then leveled a withering glare at Sampson, making her next words crystal clear.  “I find it unbelievably distasteful that your complete and utter ineptitude, both as a commander and leader of your department, is being overlooked in favor of placing blame at the feet of an officer forced to improvise a solution and nearly lose his life in the process.”

“Ineptitude?”  Sampson’s eyebrows jumped immediately, the insult obviously striking a serious nerve as she stared back at Julia in outright indignation.  The temperature of the room seemed to rise by several degrees, neither woman backing down from the conflict now in play.  Mike stirred nervously in his chair as Julia continued, undaunted by any other reactions to her diatribe.

“I was clear, Commander Sampson.  Ineptitude.  The lack of judgment or ability to do your job with even a modicum of competence.  The First of October Rail Attack.  The Heath Bank Primary School bombing.  Now Thornton Circus.  All spectacularly-botched operations by SO15, two of which may very well result in the deaths of your own officers.  And you have the temerity to sit here before us all and call your response appropriate?  Nonsense.”

Mike’s eyes widened at the level of absolute vitriol in Julia’s voice.  Sensing that the briefing was well on its way to being derailed in favor of personally aggressive arguments, he clearly sought to speak only for Julia to put a hand up swiftly, silencing him for the moment as she continued to speak.

“Furthermore, since you’ve neglected to read out the record in full as it would clearly implicate the failures of yourself and your department to respond to a high-level threat, I will do so on behalf of everyone else at this table.  A reality check is obviously in order here.”

Julia had her own portfolio open and ready, pulling out a pair of readers with precise movements and placing them atop her nose as she began to read the incident report in her possession out loud.

“PS Budd issued a distress call to control at 16:33, citing Status Zero and requesting assistance.  He issued a transmission to his protection team at 16:34, alerting them to the death of my driver Terence Foyer and confirming that the team should wait for requested backup to arrive on the scene.  At 16:35, he requested specialized forms of response based on his knowledge of the situation at hand.  PS Budd was advised by control that the ETA of an armed response stood at two minutes.

“PS Budd then assessed the situation from outside the vehicle and at 16:37 issued another call to control with specifics as to the threat being posed.  He was again advised at 16:38 that a response would arrive in two minutes’ time, negating the previous time estimation given by control.  At 16:39, a full six minutes after his initial call to control, PS Budd took matters into his own hands and got his team and principal to safer ground without the benefit of supportive forces, which still had not arrived on the scene.  And we know, given the accuracy of the time stamp on the surveillance photo, that PS Budd eliminated the threat and also suffered near fatal injuries to his person at 16:42.  It would be another three minutes before he was medically assisted, three crucial minutes that may prove to be the difference in his now-slim chances for survival.”

Julia removed her glasses and straightened in her chair, closing the portfolio she’d been reading from and looking around the table at each official in turn as she steadily ignored the commander for the moment. 

“The facts. As gleaned from the recordings, medical personnel, and the protection team of three officers left to fend for themselves in the midst of an active shooter firing upon their security convoy.  I was directly in the vicinity for the majority of the attack, and can confirm the accuracy of this report. _Twelve_ full minutes elapsed before adequate support arrived to the scene to assist the protection team and provide PS Budd with medical intervention for his injuries.  If this is what passes for an appropriate response in your eyes, Commander, I have every right to question your judgment and competence for the position you hold.  This is completely unacceptable.”

Sampson looked flushed, clearly fuming even as she endeavored to keep her voice even.  The room turned to her, every single person on high alert as the drama continued to unfold.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I believe your judgment of this situation in particular is clouded by several elements,” the commander began, Julia leaning forward now and her scowl deepening as Sampson continued her defense in a voice layered with subtle, bristling condescension.

“Your proximity to the incident has obviously heightened your sensitivity to its outcome, which I believe we can all forgive you for.  This was a harrowing situation that took us all by surprise, and we are all obviously glad you are safe and unharmed,” Sampson ceded, shaking her head as if to offer mock sympathy for Julia’s involvement.  “However, it is my belief that the personal nature of your developing relationship with Sergeant Budd may play a role in your skewed perception of his choices leading up to and including the shooting.”

“Excuse me?” 

Julia’s jaw nearly dropped several feet as it seemed everyone else in the room stopped breathing simultaneously.  Mike shifted his startled gaze to the commander, shaking his head as if to ward her off from that line of defense, but Sampson continued undaunted, apparently intent on taking the Home Secretary to task at all costs that morning.

“It has become clear to many relevant parties within the department that there has been some, ‘blurring of the lines’, so to speak, between yourself and the PPO assigned to you.  Reassignment of PS Budd to your team against department advisement, reportedly conducted under pressure from your office.  Your potential involvement in a private matter pertaining to the academic transfer of one of Sergeant Budd’s children. A recently documented instance of a significant amount of time spent together alone in your home, delaying the sergeant and his team in their return to the precinct for the evening.  A clear violation of protocol just hours ago in convincing a member of his team to allow you travel and access to PS Budd in his recovery suite.”

Sampson paused for effect to let the listed indictments sink in, a nasty little smirk lifting the corner of her mouth as she witnessed the effect her words had on those assembled. “It’s become very clear to many in the department that the normal professional boundaries between a PPO and his principal are not being maintained in this case.  Thus, your judgment of the events in question can hardly be construed as objective.”

Julia had never quite seen the shade of red that now flashed before her eyes.  “You absolutely _disgust_ me, Commander,” she seethed, heedless of Mike’s beseeching gaze as he endeavored to touch her arm, calm her down.  Julia shook him off irately, standing up and bracing her hands against the conference table as she dropped her voice to lethal levels.  “The sergeant’s blood is all over your hands right now due to your bloody idiotic response to the events in question, and you would dare smear his name and mine--”

“Home Secretary!  Commander Sampson.  Please,” Mike interjected hastily, sensing that the entire meeting had gotten out of control.  “We’ve clearly gotten away from the topic at hand.  Please strike all mention of unprofessional conduct between the Home Secretary and her PPO from the record, please.  Unsubstantiated, irrelevant claims of this nature have no place here.”

“Sure.  Bury it.  Cover your arses.  It’s what you all do best,” the commander spat, well past the point of respectful niceties.  “I could open an investigation, but I’d hardly want to spare the manpower needed to expose just how crooked and manipulative you lot are.”

Gasps could be heard from the surrounding assembly just as a knock sounded from the closed door of the conference room.  It opened, revealing a security escort blandly carrying out his duties.

“Ma’am.  Commissioner Stephen Lavin of the London Metropolitan Police.”  The security officer stepped aside then, the imposing figure of the head commissioner looming through the threshold.  A perpetually stern, white-haired man in his sixties, he nodded crisply at the Home Secretary before removing his cap and taking the empty seat at the other end of the table. 

“Home Secretary, Commander Sampson,” he began gruffly.  “I apologize for the delay in my attendance.”

The commander was clearly taken by surprise.  “Apologies, sir.  We were not made aware of your planned attendance at this meeting--”

“I invited him,” Julia began, nodding at the commissioner while retaking her seat, “in order to restore a certain level of professionalism to the police department's involvement in this case.”  She cut her eyes to Commander Sampson for a weighted second.  “And also to update us all on the investigation I launched earlier this morning into the SO15 response to the Thornton Circus attack.”

“Investigation?” 

“The Home Secretary saw fit to…avail my office late last night and this morning of her concerns surrounding the attack.  Concerns of a most serious nature.”  He centered his gaze on the commander and her deputy, lowering his chin slightly as he addressed them in particular.

“As I am late to this meeting, I will spare you all the recounting of reports you no doubt have covered already.  Suffice it to say, after reviewing the submitted timeline of events, interviews, and latest reports of the attack and its unfortunate casualties, including the injuries sustained to Sergeant Budd during his brave and successful attempt to neutralize the shooter, I’ve concluded in my preliminary report that SO15 did not conduct the proper level of coordinated response to the Thornton Circus attack.  It was delayed and sloppy in its execution, for reasons that will certainly be examined in detail during the ongoing investigation.”

Sampson’s jaw now dropped as she regarded the commissioner, abject disbelief written all over her face.  “Sir—”

“Commander, this is a serious offense, as you well know.  An attack against a cabinet minister handled with this level of carelessness, with an eye to blaming her security team for their role in actually handling the threat at hand, shows a remarkable lack of judgment on your part.  An officer went down on your watch.  The sacrifice that Police Sergeant Budd made should be respected, not cited as a way to distract from department-wide operational failures.”

“Sir, with all due respect, that is not—”

“Thus, Commander Sampson, I have authorized suspension from your post pending the outcome of this investigation, effective immediately.”

“Commissioner, I beg you—”

“This is a cumulative decision, Ms. Sampson.  It has become clear that your recent responses to the escalation in terror attacks are not providing effective measures to protect those already affected, nor preventing future attacks from taking place.”

“I see,” Sampson remarked without any inflection at all, turning back to eye Julia, who didn’t so much as flinch with her next request.

“If my security could kindly escort the former commander out, we’ll move on from here with the commissioner in place,” Julia requested smoothly, pressing a small button to summon the officers in the hall.  The door opened as Sampson and her deputy rose, the former’s face still flushed with rage as she silently stared Julia down before turning her head abruptly and disappearing through the door.

* * *

 

- _He’s been taken off life support. K.-_

_-I want to see him.-_

_-I know. Arrangements have been made.  Be ready in 30. K.-_

_-Ok.  Thank you, Kim.-_

_-Happy to help.  K.-_

 

* * *

The room was so quiet.

Julia felt like her very breathing disturbed the peace, her heels loud against spotless linoleum as she closed the door behind her and made her way to his side.

David didn’t stir. 

Much like he hadn’t earlier that afternoon. 

After the meeting, Julia had endeavored to make her way back to the hospital, totally unsatisfied by the lack of updates being sent to her by the staff.  His wife and kids practically greeted her at the door, Julia making a gracious effort to introduce herself and converse briefly with Vicky before offering to leave the family alone during their visiting time.

“I won’t hear of it,” Vicky insisted kindly, ushering Julia forward as she maneuvered the children out to the hall.  “They need some fresh air anyway.  Come Ella, Charlie…” 

Thus, she’d had her time with him.  She’d been grateful, reassured on the trip back to the safe house that she had said everything she needed to say, had promised all that felt appropriate and right to promise him.

But this felt distinctly different. 

Felt like the very last time she would ever see him.

And there was nothing left to say. 

Nothing more left to do, or promise, or hope for.

Tears froze in Julia's throat, pressed insistently against the back of her eyes as she took in David’s face for the final time.  Those brilliant eyes still tightly closed, face pale and unshaven, his dark hair tousled and flat in places.  The ventilator had been removed hours before, his weak, uneven respiration barely stirring his frame, barely keeping him alive in the duration.  The doctors had been quite surprised that he was able to breathe on his own, but they also cautioned against false hope.  At any time, they fully expected even that weak, fluttery effort to cease entirely, expected his organs to begin failing one by one without the support of the ventilator to keep him alive.

This was it.

This was, well and truly, the end of their time together.

It came much too soon.

Julia found herself shaking, her legs practically giving way with the enormity of her grief as she pulled up a chair by David's left side and sank down quietly.  Both of her hands found his, cradling his cold fingers with her warm ones and holding on tight.  She bowed her head then, fully giving into the urge to weep, not caring if she was caught or if the security teams and their little whisper network got her open display of emotion back to the ears of the powers that be.

She let her tears fall.  Found courage in the act, solace in the surrender.

Sat there for a long, long time.  Unbothered, undisturbed.

Utterly still.

Until there was movement.

And it wasn’t hers.

The hand in hers.  Moving slightly.  Squeezing hers gently.

It took a full moment to register, the surprise almost too great to comprehend until Julia finally looked up from their hands.

And found, to her complete shock, a familiar pair of deep blue eyes staring right back at her.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! Back to David's POV. Please enjoy. :)  
> -Candy

_He’d drifted off some time after he’d last heard Vicky’s soft, sad voice, telling him of her decision to turn off the machines so as not to prolong his suffering._

_Imploring him to rest._

_Telling him that the kids would be okay, that he’d been a wonderful father to them._

_That she’d always love him despite what they’d endured together._

_That she understood his sacrifice._

_That she was proud of him._

_He vaguely heard the efficient bustling of the medical staff as they methodically disconnected machines; heard the odd, reflexive retching sounds coming from his own throat as the ventilator was removed._

_They’d finished swiftly and left.  Only the silence remained._

_And what little awareness he’d retained began to ebb away in the wake of their actions, his body quietly losing the battle._

_Seeming to further withdraw from the world._

_Easing him gently into the dark._

* * *

 

Someone was holding his hand.

His left hand.

Holding it tightly. 

* * *

 

The palms were soft, a little smaller than his.  Warm, finely-boned, slender. 

Much less calloused than Vicky’s, which had become roughened over the years of being a nurse.

_Oh my God..._

The fresh novelty of sensation, the shock of being able to _feel_ those hands on his, suddenly hit David like a freight train, crashing into his psyche without warning.  The abrupt realization that his senses were returning, that he was still very much _alive_ , that life still stirred within his breast, evidently unwilling to desert him in the darkness...

That he’d been given yet another chance by fate.

That by miracle, luck, or the sheer and unyielding tenacity of his body, he’d _**survived.**_

And maybe, just _maybe_ , he was going to be okay.

A myriad of emotions assaulted him then, not least of which was a profound, encompassing relief.  David could actually _feel_ his body flush faintly with blood, the sensation a bit difficult to detect through the haze of powerful drugs flooding his system.  Everything felt a bit numb and tingly from the neck down, his head fuzzy, his thoughts a bit sluggish in nature; he supposed that was for the best, as he was pretty damned sure whatever had been done to keep him alive post-shooting would brandish its own special brand of agony in due time.

For now, he’d enjoy what little he could feel.

And hear.

And…see?

His eyelids felt monumentally heavy, practically sealed shut.  He cracked them open the barest sliver, trying to regain his vision, failing spectacularly on his first try.

Nothing was in focus. 

David could see a blur of brown and blue by his side amid a field of fuzzy white.  He shut his eyes again in mild frustration, stirring again when he heard a muffled, teary sigh, felt the hands around his go slack, preparing to pull away.

_No.  Don’t leave me.  Please._

He couldn’t bear the thought of letting go in that moment, losing the only bit of sensation, of real _warmth_ , he’d felt in quite some time.   So he fought against the exhaustion, the weakness, the drug-induced numbness.   Fought to move his own hand a little, to open his eyes, to see who that sigh belonged to, acknowledge the owner of those soft, wonderfully warm hands.

His hand did move.  David heard a soft gasp of shock accompany the motion just as he managed to fully open his eyes, his vision still a blur.  He could just make out the barest edges of a feminine, heart-shaped face surrounded by soft brown, hazel eyes shining with tears coming gradually into focus as the owner of said eyes leaned closer, whispered his name with gentle, hesitant surprise.

“David?”

_Julia..._

A door opened then, and he could hear quick steps coming towards the bed.

“Alright, Sergeant Budd, new shift’s on.  Hello, ma’am.  Karen’s here—oh!”  

Those wide hazel eyes retreated from view quickly then, the nurse’s surprised exclamation leading to a fresh flurry of activity as she took in his new state of awareness, summoned more aides to his side, issued a kind request to his visitor to leave the room while she began to take vitals and examine him more thoroughly, put a call through to his doctors, reassured him that he was in good hands…

Every hour from then on out that day was filled with needle pricks, CAT scans, MRIs, therapy visits, long explanations of the road ahead of him in the medical sense as his doctors and specialists visited him one by one, expressing their satisfaction that he’d regained awareness while tempering his expectations about the speed and scope of his recovery.

David listened, in and out of a dazed state as his body was poked and prodded, as personnel came and went, as family showed up and cried at the sight of seeing him awake and aware.  He was happy to see them, glad to witness their joy at seeing him alive…yet some small part of him had remained ever-watchful for another visitor, growing a little more despondent by the hour as night closed in and the nurses switched shifts, signaling the end of visiting hours for the evening.

She never returned that day.

* * *

 

Three days had passed since he’d awoken.

Three long, exhausting days of test after test, of bland, soft foods designed to be easy on his throat and stomach.  Of every possible kind of therapist greeting him with a firm handshake before guiding him gingerly out of bed for exercises.  Of a multitude of doctors and surgeons and nurses extolling the ‘absolute bloody miracle’ of him surviving the wounds he’d sustained, let alone recovering at such a quick pace. 

Of Vick and the kids, fresh-faced and happier to see him than they had been in years.  Their animated chatter filling the small room, Charlie and Ella lying in bed on either side of him and excitedly sharing the get-well-Daddy pictures they’d drawn especially for him that day at school. 

Of colleagues from the department, some very familiar, others not so much, coming by to visit and express their relief, share their respects, drop off cards and gifts and wish him well.   David appreciated all of it, he truly did;  though he still felt a little out of it and the pain meds did a lot to slow his speech and keep him knocked out most of the time, he did his best to return the favor of their attentions, to appear stronger and more put-together than he actually felt.

And he also did his best not to think of a particular pair of warm, soft hands surrounding his.

Or the potency and loveliness of a certain set of wide hazel eyes, peering down into his own.

He was failing heavily on both counts.

She was nowhere to be found.

* * *

 

Day six.

David, with all his faculties pretty much intact, was _finally_ slated to go home later that afternoon. 

He’d passed every test, his vitals getting stronger by the day.  His gait was still slow but steadier than it had any right to be, the therapists praising his hard work and pointing to his previous conditioning as the chief reason for his swift physical recovery.  The doctors had gradually begun to decrease the amounts of pain meds he was given, the layers of gauze around his chest incision gradually shrinking in size until there was one large, flat bandage covering the stitched wounds, protecting them from infection. 

David caught a look at his bare torso in the bathroom mirror earlier that morning, wincing hard as he stopped and visibly took in the damage for the very first time.  Between his old burn scars and the large, forked incision now making its way diagonally down the center of his chest, it’d be a good long while before he felt comfortable taking his top off in front of anyone else. 

 _No more claims to vanity_ , _mate,_ he thought ruefully before shrugging slowly into a fresh gown and shuffling back to bed.

Besides, there were other, worse aspects to consider.

No stranger to injury or its fallout, David nonetheless now found himself in pretty constant, fairly agonizing pain, his chest feeling twenty different kinds of raw and inflamed no matter what he did or didn’t do. 

It hurt to inhale, hurt to exhale. Hurt to bend over.  Hurt to twist, or arch, or lie sideways, move his arms, or do pretty much anything that had to do with upper body movement.  And if that weren’t bad enough to handle, he still found himself remarkably short of breath on most occasions, his re-inflated lung still tender and susceptible to injury should he try and exert himself too much, too quickly.

“You got shot twice in the chest, Sergeant,” Karen reminded him drolly last night, trying to make him smile amid the impatience she could clearly see furrowing his features.  “Takes time to recover from that, believe it or not.  You’re doing just fine.” 

He managed a grim smile to appease her efforts, though he felt anything but amused or mollified about his current state.

It was frustrating, truth be told.  And exhausting, and painful, and scary, and a million other little irritating aspects David tried not to dwell on.  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be the same, ever be able to do his job again, be the man and father he needed to be.

But he also knew he couldn’t peer into, much less control, the future.  What mattered was that he was alive and making real progress, as slow and as tentative as it was.

And what mattered to him, more than anything else right now, was going home.

* * *

 

David lay in bed later that morning, lost in thought.  Watching as the rays of the rising sun shone through the vertical blinds, bars of golden light falling across the covers of his neatly made bed.  The windowsill was flanked with plants, flowers, cards, teddy bears, practically every gift shop trinket known to man represented fairly well in his room.  And right next to him, on the adjacent table, a very expensive-looking, sparse arrangement of calla lilies sat in a frosted glass vase.

_-Get well soon.  From your friends at the Home Office.-_

A full six days had passed. 

And she had yet to show up.

He was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined her after all.  Imagined all that had happened between them.  The heartfelt words she’d expressed by his bedside.  The hands holding his. 

Maybe it was all a delusion.  A farce.  A figment of a lonely, tired imagination.

“Skip?”

A quiet voice broke into his troubling thoughts.  David turned his head just in time to see Kim walk into the room, a tentative smile breaking across her features as she came closer to the bed.

“I hope I didn’t wake you…”

“Not at all, come in,” he replied warmly, pressing a button to raise himself up a little.  They embraced, Kim being mindful of his bandage as she hugged him with a brief, gentle grasp before pulling back to regard him fully.

“You look great for a dead man,” she joked, a fond grin softening the corners of her lips.  David groaned, lying back and rolling his eyes.

“I think I must look a hell of a lot better than I feel.”

“Pain meds not helping?”

“Not really.”

Kim nodded sympathetically, having had her share of close calls and injuries while on duty over the years.  “How long are they giving your full recovery?”

David sighed.  “Six months, at least.  Weekly therapy for the first two.  Doctors appointments every other week, if not more.  And a whole lot of nothing between then and now.  Just the thought of all that boredom is making me crazy.”

“Careful, Skip.  You complain too much, the department will bring you back early, put you on duty rotas for a few weeks…”

“Oh, God, please, no…” They shared another laugh, David’s ending in a bit of a coughing fit that left him feeling dizzy and achy after a few moments.  Kim eased him back as he closed his eyes, touching his shoulder tenderly while she waited for him to recover.

“Take it easy there, Sarge.”

“Easier said than done,” he admitted quietly, opening his eyes after a spell, willing the stabbing pain in his chest to lessen enough in order to continue their chat. 

“Well, settle in for now.  I’ve got news to share,” Kim replied, pulling a chair close to his bedside.  According to her, the department was preparing a special, brief ceremony before the end of the week to award him commendations for his roles in both the First of October attack and Thornton Circus shooting.  His family was welcome to attend, and he was more than welcome to give a speech about what the citations meant to him as an officer.

“I don’t know about a speech…” David grimaced, forever uncomfortable with the notion of public recognition for the work he did.  Nadia was alive, as were the other occupants of the train.  His principal was unharmed, along with the innocent citizens in the line of fire that day.  Terry had not been spared, which was still a very sore spot, as he was a kind, unassuming man whom David had taken a liking to over the course of his time beside him. 

Overall, though, he’d done his job. Pure and simple.  He never really saw a need to amplify his actions as anything other than a day at work, carrying out his duties as best he could under the given circumstances.

He expressed as much to Kim, whose eyes widened perceptibly at his nonchalant assessment of the role he played in both situations. 

“Skip…what you did?  Was _special_.”

“It wasn’t.” David shook his head, refusing the praise, but Kim nonetheless continued on despite his objections.

“You saved so many lives.  Kept the team alive.  Guided us when we had no real reason to believe we’d escape that situation without serious casualties.   Marched into that building with your own life on the line and took out that shooter _by yourself_.  Do you have any idea, the bravery that took?  The guts?”  She paused for a moment, shaking her head as if trying even harder to put her thoughts into words, to impress upon him the importance of his sacrifice. 

“Even for coppers like the rest of us, that kind of strategizing goes above and beyond all our training, everything that we’re prepared to face.  That takes brains, Sarge.  And heart,” she added meaningfully, tapping him lightly atop his chest where the bandages lay.

David was touched, saying nothing for a long moment while he took in her words.  Kim sat back, her eyes never leaving his for a second as she watched him tear up a bit and look away, nodding his acceptance with a weary sigh.

“So you’ll make the speech.  Accept the damned commendations, which as you know the department is always stingy about in the first place.  And let us make a fuss over you for once, maybe head out for a pint after if you can have one.  Deal?”

Despite himself and the pain he knew he was about to cause within his chest, David had no choice but to chuckle.  “Deal, Kim.  I know I could use a good pint right about now.”

“So could I,” she moaned, placing her head in her hands.  “We need you back, Skip.  The team isn’t the same without you at the helm.  And, might I add, neither is a certain Home Secretary.”

He froze instantly, trying not to give away his sudden interest at the mention of Julia.  “What do you mean?” he asked neutrally.  “I was out of it, of course, but I’m sure she was here a couple of times.”

Kim snorted.  “A couple of times?  I could hardly keep her away,” she whispered in confidence, lowering her voice just in case anyone was listening outside.  She hesitated for a split second before asking the obvious question, her curiosity over the principal’s behavior during the last week or so winning out over any pretense of minding her own business. 

“Is there…something I should know about?  Something going on between the two of you?  Please know that you can trust me.”

David shook his head in the negative, trying not to betray his own growing curiosity at the events of the past week.  “Not really…” he answered slowly, which as it turned out was exactly the wrong thing to say to a fellow officer trained in parsing statements.

“Not really?”  Kim’s eyebrows raised sharply.

“I mean…”

“Skip, the Home Secretary fought me on coming here the first night to see you.  With her life at risk and under credible threat, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.  She went to bat for you.  Got the commish to suspend Sampson without pay as punishment for her response to the attack that landed you here.  Checked in with me practically every two hours to check your status.  Visited you twice the day you woke up.  And if she weren’t currently out of the country on business, would likely be sitting right here in this chair instead of me,” she stated matter-of-factly, noting the shocked look on his features as she finished spooling out the events of the last few days. 

“With that in mind, please explain ‘not really’ to me in greater detail.  I’m all ears.”

“I…” David truly found himself at a loss for words, the realization that Julia had done _far more_ on his behalf in those two days than he’d even thought possible throwing him off considerably.  Kim just watched him process it all, shaking her head after a minute as a knowing smile broke out across her face.

“The principal will be back later this week.  With any luck, you’ll both have a chance to talk things over.  Something tells me she’ll definitely create the opportunity.”

“Kim.” David said her name in a warning tone, hating the fact that he was blushing a little at her assertion.  The younger officer simply smirked, offering him a mock salute as she rose from the chair.

“That’s my cue.  Good luck going home today, Skip.  I’ll see you at the ceremony,” she whispered, leaning in for another careful hug.  “Text me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Kim,” he whispered back, truly grateful for her company yet still reeling a bit from her disclosures as she retreated from the room. 

_Maybe he wasn’t imagining it after all._

* * *

 

The day of the ceremony arrived, Vicky and the kids taking off from work and school that morning to attend.  She’d been dutifully playing the nurse role to perfection (for better and for worse) ever since he arrived back to the safehouse with a slew of medications and precautions in tow:  helping him dress, imploring him to do his exercises, reminding him to take his antibiotics at the proper time, changing his bandages.

The tensions between them hadn’t fully abated.  David recognized that she was clearly sacrificing time from her new relationship to tend to him at the moment, and though she would obviously never voice her discontent with him in his current state, it was apparent enough that he found himself pushing for more autonomy almost immediately after moving back home, not wanting to be a burden or drain on her any more than he already was.

So that was his plan that day:  get through the ceremony, head out with his colleagues for a round (that pint would remain elusive for the time being, as it clashed with the pain meds he was on), and sit Vicky down back at the safehouse.  He’d move back to his place in short order, hire some daytime assistance for the time being.  Anything to avoid feeling burdensome, or churning up past sore emotions between them as she prepared to move on with her life in another relationship.  And David certainly didn’t want the stress of that hanging over him on a daily basis, not when he had so much else to deal with at the moment.

He’d shown up in proper uniform per department request.   Gave a short, appreciative speech thanking his team, colleagues, and family for their support.  Smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, eyes cast humbly down as the record of his heroics was read aloud to a rapt audience.  Received two commendations from the commissioner himself, who shook his hand heartily while they posed for media photos amid passionate applause from the small assembled group. 

Ella and Charlie were the talk of the room, laughter ensuing as their antics entertained the officers present.  David, mobbed by reporters asking questions and gathering soundbites, laughed a little as they broke up the monotony by grabbing him about the waist, chattering excitedly about the plate of cookies they’d laid out on his behalf at the back of the room.

“Aye.  Save me one, will you?” he encouraged with a smile, patting them both on their heads as they raced away.  He excused himself out to the hall soon thereafter for a spell, noticing that he was favoring his walking cane a little too much just then, feeling a bit out of breath, his chest pain flaring up right on cue as his afternoon dosage was due.

_No pints for you, lad.  Not quite yet._

David sat heavily down on a bench, bent partially over as he searched his pockets for the small metal capsule that held his meds.  Finding it, he shook out the largest of the pills in the case, holding it in his palm even as he silently cursed himself for not grabbing a bottle of water on his way out.

“Here.”

Someone was handing him a plastic cup of water, appearing miraculously at the right time as if summoned by his mind.  David accepted it gratefully, straightening up as he took the cup from the outstretched arm, fully prepared to thank Vicky for being so astute, for keeping an eye on him and getting him what he neede—

He turned, his expression of gratitude dying abruptly in his throat as he looked up and directly into the warm hazel eyes of Julia Montague.

* * *

 

“How are you faring?”

“As well as can be expected.  Still some pain to manage.  Can’t stand for too long.”

“I noticed.”

“And you?”

“Just arrived back from Berlin an hour ago.  Some business to tend to.”

“I see.”

A short pause, pregnant with possibility.  Both of them looking into the middle distance, silently taking in the effect of each other’s presence.  Quietly soaking in the familiarity, the newfound warmth discovered between them.

“Sergeant…I never got to thank you for saving my life.”

“You did.”  He turned to her then, looking her in the eye.  “I know you were there with me.  In the hospital.  I know what you did for me, how you defended my actions that day.  So if anybody deserves thanks…”

“Please, David.  I won’t hear of you mentioning it.”

“All the same, ma’am.”  He nodded gratefully, pursing his lips before turning away.

Another pause.  Still rife with potential, tense with unspoken need.

“I’d like to know…if you’ll have dinner with me tonight, David.”

David turned back to her quickly, unsure he’d heard her at first.  “Come again?”

Julia Montague actually appeared _flustered_.  He didn’t think it possible.

“Dinner, Sergeant.  Your meals at the hospital were no doubt a parody of real cuisine.  And I’d like to thank you in a more formal sense, if that’s alright with you.  That is, unless you’ve got plans with your family tonight…”

“No, not at all,” he hastily assured her, still reeling from the thought of her…asking him out?  _Was that was this was?_  

“I’m available.  That’s a very kind offer, ma’am.”

“Please.  Call me Julia,” she insisted softly, rising from her seat.  David rose as well, unable to look away, noticing the way she blushed a little beneath his gaze.  It was all too appealing, all too attractive for words, and he felt his breath catch in his chest as she flicked her eyes back up to his.

“Seven.  My place.  Italian okay?”

“It is.  I’ll be there.”

Julia nodded once, a corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile before she departed down the corridor. David watched her go, feeling his body flush suddenly with giddy anticipation, wondering if he was imagining the slight sway to her hips as she strolled away.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the Chaos. Been a lovely trip. Thanks for taking it with me. Please enjoy. :)  
> -Candi

* * *

One glass in.

Julia was unaccountably nervous.

Her.  Normally unflappable her, who’d given speeches to thousands at a time without breaking so much as a bead of sweat.  Who regularly held court in front of hundreds of cameras without flinching, directed a staff of hundreds on a daily basis without so much as a waver in her voice. 

Who stood up in Parliament week after week, decimating her political opponents with a relish that bordered on obscene most days.

Now finding herself just a little short of breath, her hands trembling the slightest degree, at the impending arrival of one David Budd to her front door in less than two hours’ time.

It was utterly _ridiculous_.

She’d lost count of how many outfits she’d tried on.  Everything seemed wrong for the occasion:  too suggestive, too formal, too professional, too casual.  The interior of her walk-in closet quickly devolved into a war zone as she tossed aside option after option, mentally debating exactly how she wanted to come across to him that night, not wanting to appear as if she was trying too hard to make an impression yet intentionally making the right one nonetheless.

It was secondary school jitters, all over again.  And at the tender age of 42, Julia could’ve sworn these particular travails were solidly in the rear-view mirror of her life.

Evidently not.

After about an hour of tortured deliberation, she’d finally came to a decision that suited her well and fit the setting and mood perfectly:  a soft tan cashmere oversized sweater with an off-the-shoulder neckline, paired with comfortable navy ponte pants and a pointy-toe flat.  Casual, with just the faintest hint of sex appeal to keep it all interesting. 

Julia put on a cursory amount of makeup with a swipe of berry tint on her lips, fluffed her curls up a bit, had poured herself a glass of wine to take the edge off her jitters.  Dialed the restaurant, requested delivery service, ordered just about one of everything on the menu just in case.  Wandered into the den and took a seat on the couch, folding her legs beneath her as she balanced her wine in one hand and reached for a chocolate from the dish on the coffee table.

And tried, with little success, to calm the fluttery sensation in her belly.  Or conquer her slight light-headedness.  Or loosen a jaw clenched tightly with burgeoning anticipation.

What was it about tonight in particular that had her on such a tightrope of emotions? 

It wasn’t as if she and David hadn’t eaten together before…in fact, they’d done so in the very room she now resided in, less than two weeks previously.  Of course that felt like practically a lifetime ago, and their encounter hadn’t been at all planned; it was entirely an impromptu excursion decided by Rob’s lame antics that night and David’s surprising willingness to let her spring for fish and chips at a nearby takeaway pub.  Julia recalled the way his eyebrows raised in startled gratitude as she implored him to order a meal for himself and food for his team,  admiring the shy, almost awkward nature of his actions that night as he’d removed his suit jacket and unholstered his gun in her front hall before placing both aside and following her into the den.

Their conversation had been genial yet cautious at first, treading lightly as they each attempted to suss out the other.  Julia could tell David was a suspicious man by nature, no doubt due to his background and training, but she sensed a distinct distrust in his eyes as he peered back at her, remaining carefully guarded during the initial moments of their dinner together.  It was only when she asked about his children that Julia could detect the slightest thaw in his distant demeanor, kindly thanking her despite his obvious curiosity as to her motives. 

And then he moved to leave.  Gathering the food cartons per his usual courtesy, offering to clean up for her as she’d made the barest attempt to come back to reality and resume the long night of work that stretched ahead of her.  There was something in his gesture that _struck_ her in such a way however, watching his quick, efficient movements as he obediently closed and hefted both cartons in his grasp before turning in the direction of the kitchen, that gave her just enough pause to question whether she wanted the night to end then and there.

Or whether she wanted her incredibly efficient, unfathomably attractive bodyguard with a failing marriage and a newly softening regard towards her to stay a little longer, perhaps share a cup of tea for a few minutes more.

That decision?  Wasn’t difficult at all.

It had been closing in on midnight by the time the two of them had decided to call it an evening, flushed with a couple cups of tea, a conversation that had run a surprising yet illuminating gamut of topics, and a growing sense of awareness between them that was becoming highly difficult to ignore. 

What that awareness actually consisted of for each of them was the real question.

And how that awareness had undeniably changed between them in the wake of the attack was entirely another.

Julia shifted against the cushions, leaning back to take another long, pensive sip of wine.

The real difference between that night in her den and now had very little to do with their awareness of each other beyond their titles and duties;  to some degree, that had existed from day one (even if she’d been a proper harridan to him that first meeting, much to her faint, lingering horror). 

No, the difference tonight that gave her pause was the fresh potential that now existed in their relationship, courtesy of the attack and its fallout.

Namely, that he was not her PPO anymore.

And options that weren’t even truly feasible just two weeks before were now very, very _**real**._

* * *

 

Two glasses in.

A knock at the door.

“Ma’am.  Delivery.”

Julia rose swiftly, attributing her sudden disorientation strictly to the wine itself as she bustled across the apartment and down the hall to the front door.  Perfect timing, really.  David wouldn’t be here for another fifteen minutes or so.  She could set things up, plate it beautifully, and have a couple of extra minutes to breathe and relax…

She opened the door.  And there he stood, right between two of her newer security guards, both of whom were overloaded with bags of food. 

Of course.

“Julia.”

The sound of her name, spoken in his deep, distinctive voice for the first time, made her shiver _._

_Definitely a good choice to insist he start using it._

“Come in,” she managed, studiously ignoring the fluttering sensation in her belly as he brushed past and entered the hall.  Julia directed the guards to set the bags aside in her kitchen while she and David appraised each other genially.  He looked much more casual than she’d ever seen him before, those impeccable dark suits and starchy dress shirts eschewed in favor of a blue button-down beneath a navy textured jacket and a nicely-fitted pair of jeans.  His dark curls appeared a little softer than usual, more effortlessly tossed as he ran an idle hand through their thick mass.

“I apologize for being so early.  Had a little bit of time to kill,” David confessed earnestly, displaying that small shy grin she secretly adored.  Sometimes it was honestly hard to reconcile the man she’d watched storm a building with nothing but a rifle and a killer scowl with the man she was beginning to see in glimpses; gentle, a little vulnerable, good-humored and genuinely modest. 

So humbly endearing.

Julia found herself relaxing just a trifle, offering him a warm smile of her own as she led them both down the hall to the kitchen.  “Not a problem, Sergeant.  Shall we?”

* * *

 

Three glasses in.

“This is delicious, thank you.”

Their conversation had been limited at best so far, and for good reasons.  David had hardly come up for air or words as he positively devoured the generous helpings of food set before him.  Julia, too, had worked up quite the appetite; the meal options during her flight back to the UK had been less than optimal, so she found herself digging in just as eagerly as they sat across from each other at her beautiful yet seldom-used kitchen table.

“I’m glad.  Please, help yourself to more, David,” she insisted, passing along a steaming dish of clams in sauce, gratified when he heartily accepted the offering and heaped more onto his plate.  “I’m beginning to wonder if they fed you at all during your stay at the hospital.”

“They did, though it was the worst food imaginable.” David groaned at the mere memory, taking a quick sip of water before spearing a piece of ravioli with his fork.  “I dropped almost a full stone in a week.  The nurses tried to take pity on me, sneak me something good every once in awhile.  But it was a pretty bleak situation all around.”

“I hear you were quite the star patient,” Julia remarked, reaching for a breadstick.  “The nurses may or may not have been fighting over the chance to answer your call button, if Kim is to be believed.”

That piqued his attention, those lovely blue eyes raising to hers in sudden curiosity.

“Oh?  Why is that?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, looking at her with a steady, questioning gaze, his head tilted a fraction.

“It’s more a little obvious why.  I mean, look at you,” Julia shrugged nonchalantly in between bites of food, not quite realizing the implications of what she said until she noticed David had stopped eating entirely in favor of staring at her head-on.  She blanched a little, cursing the wine for loosening her tongue far too quickly as she watched one thick eyebrow raise in the ensuing quiet air.

_Shit.  Did she just say that?  Out loud?_

David’s curiosity was clearly turning the corner into full-on amused scrutiny as Julia felt herself start to blush, praying that he wouldn’t ask her to elaborate.

“Look at me?”

 _Oh God.  Julia.  Less wine, more water._ She put the goblet down, trying to seem way more relaxed than she felt as she reached for her water glass and gulped a sip in quick order.

“It’s likely…that more than a few of them found you attractive, David,” she replied in as neutral of a tone as she could muster, hating the way she was still flushing beneath that piercing gaze. 

“Is that so?”

“I mean…you are an attractive man, so it’s perfectly…um…”

_Julia.  For the love of God.  Stop talking.  Now._

Now she had _him_ blushing just a little.  David averted his eyes towards his plate and nodded slightly, cheeks a little reddened, that ridiculously endearing grin still in place.  “Thanks?”

Jesus.  It really _was_ secondary school all over again for her, wasn’t it?  Telling her crush how cute he was in literally the most awkward, embarrassing way possible.  Julia shook her head and cleared her throat, determined to save what little face remained and change subjects quickly.

“What’s it been like to be back home?”

At that, his face fell.  Julia always felt the need to tread carefully when it came to his personal life, and apparently this time around was no exception.

“It’s been…interesting.  Vick and the kids are still at the safehouse.  Being with the kids again is great.  Things between Vick and I are...less than ideal,” David remarked honestly, wiping his lips with his napkin before reaching for a platter of salad.  “She’s in the process of moving on.  And I’m obviously in the way of that process right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Julia consoled gently, refilling his water glass.  “Separation is never easy to navigate through.”

“So I’m discovering,” he agreed with a grim nod, taking a huge sigh.  One of his hands came to his chest midway through the act, face twisting into a wince immediately.  “Shouldn’t have done that…”

“Are you okay?” Julia paused her actions, rising to assist him even as he waved her off.

“I’m fine, it’s just…it’ll pass,” David assured her, eyes closed for a moment.  “Sorry…”

“Nonsense, no apologies,” she insisted firmly, touching his shoulder as she crouched down by his side.  “Maybe we’ll be more comfortable in the den?  It’s about time for dessert, yes?”

He opened his eyes just a sliver, face a touch paler than before even as he smiled at her.  “You’re spoiling me, Julia.”

“Well, you’ve taken care of me all these weeks, David.  Saved my life, lest we forget.  Think a little tiramisu in return is definitely a fair, if completely uneven, exchange,” Julia whispered, grinning back as she rose to clear their plates. 

* * *

 

Four glasses in.

The den had proven to be a welcome change of pace, the comfortable familiarity of that setting lending itself to even more relaxed banter between the two of them.

Julia found herself laughing at nearly every opportunity, and it wasn’t the goblet of cabernet she’d been nursing for a spell.  David was a lot funnier than she’d ever realized, his stoicism and quiet nature having taken a backseat that evening to the more open, sardonically-humored personality she was now curled up on the couch next to. 

Their tiramisu had been consumed in record time, Julia’s heart skipping a couple of beats at one point as she’d endeavored to tell David that a bit of cream resided at the corner of his mouth.  Before she could interject, however, she’d been treated to the sight of David’s tongue darting out to neatly lick away said cream.

“Got it.  I’m a messy eater, forgive me,” he apologized, winking at her with good-natured charm.  Julia had no choice but to look away, the room’s temperature seeming to rise by several degrees in mere seconds.  Goodness, but he was quite the potent force...

They’d gotten past that moment and several more, conversation in full flow as she peppered David with questions about his worst assignments and he readily shared story after astonishing story with a dry, detached delivery that kept her in stitches.  He ended one unbelievable account of his horrific time with a foreign diplomat that had literally ended in a shouting match, the diplomat essentially threatening to have him banned from the particular country he represented.

“Guess I got under his skin.  But I’ve got to do my job.”  David shrugged, taking another sip of water.

“So, simply through process of elimination, it would seem that I was indeed your most well-behaved principal,” Julia stated nonchalantly, smiling as he raised an eyebrow and let out an audible snort.

“At first?  Hardly, Julia.”

“I recall apologizing promptly.  I’d had a bad day.  You can’t hold that first day against me forever, can you?”

He pretended to be deep in thought, an action which earned him a light tap on the shoulder.  “David!”

“You were pretty brutal, ma’am,” he admitted with no small amount of amusement, Julia shaking her head in adamant self-defense.

“But I got _nicer.”_

“You did.”

“And you got a little less strict, thank goodness.  Such a demanding PPO at first.  Exit here, wait here, park here.  I don’t take kindly to that, as you well know.”

“Oh, I found out quickly enough,” David smirked, smiling at her again.

“You did.”  Julia chuckled, turning to reach for her glass, the sudden move making her slightly dizzy.  David noticed, of course, because he noticed _everything_.

“Make you a cuppa?” he offered kindly, to which she shooed him away.

“Not that you didn’t make a brilliant cup before.  But I’ve got it this time around.  Relax,” Julia insisted, head still spinning even as she hefted her glass and the saucers and made a quick escape to the kitchen.

She needed a break, truth be told.  Needed to put the wine glass down for a moment, regain her equilibrium.  Needed to catch her breath in the wake of a wonderful evening she could feel winding down slowly, feeling that same sense of sadness overtaking her at the prospect of him leaving soon.

To say nothing of the longing she felt eating away at every ounce of restraint she possessed every time he looked at her, spoke in that low, deep accent, flashed that seldom-seen smile she was truly beginning to fall in love with.

Julia wanted to touch him so _badly_.  Kiss him.  Invite him to stay as long as he pleased.   There was no real need for that restraint anymore, was there?  No rules existed against their exploring this connection between them in a more tangible fashion.  It was really a matter of what they each wanted.  What they were willing to discover between each other on their own terms.

And yet what was tonight, really?  They’d never classified this as a date, merely a gesture of thanks on her part for an incredible act of sacrifice on his.  Perhaps she’d be overstepping some unspoken expectations by pushing anything more than dinner, pursuing anything further than good conversation at this point.

_Frustrating._

Julia switched on the kettle before carrying the plates to the sink, lost in thought, growing warm as she idly thought of his mouth.  Watching it move in conversation that night, the heated memory of that tongue swiping out to taste that dab of cream.  Thought of a scenario wherein she returned to the den and was treated to the pleasure of those lips pressing tenderly against her neck in reverent, naked desire, perhaps exploring lower territories in due time…

“Julia?”

She jumped nearly a mile, turning and nearly knocking David over in the process.

“Whoa,” he managed, placing the leftover tiramisu carton down on the counter as his hands came out to steady her.  “So sorry to startle you.”

So close.  His mouth was _right there_.

Before she could stop herself, before she even realized her own intentions in that split-second, Julia exhaled as she went in for a kiss.  Pressed her lips to his in a soft, lingering salute before pulling away just as quickly.  Watched as he stared down at her with wide eyes, obviously caught off-guard at the clearly unexpected act.

_Oh shit._

She needed to apologize.  Fast.  That was not the way she'd envisioned that moment _at all,_ having taken his choice out of the equation entirely.

The first word of apology had yet to leave her lips before David returned the favor however, seeking and covering her mouth more boldly with his own.  Broad palms rose to cradle her face as he deepened the kiss in seconds, Julia’s heart pounding hard as she slid shaky hands up his chest to encircle them around his neck. 

They continued for one long, delirious minute, Julia’s head now spinning for entirely different reasons.  However she’d envisioned this feeling previously, it had NOTHING on the sheer reality of how good David’s mouth felt on hers, how talented he appeared to be at this particular skill.  _Was there anything he wasn’t good at?_ she thought in dizzy, aroused wonder, feeling that tongue swipe gently at her bottom lip as she pressed closer to him, urging more touch, more contact...

“Oh--” He broke their kiss off suddenly with a pained moan, stepping back with a hand to his chest as he hunched forward a little.  David looked pale again, seemingly short of breath as he closed his eyes momentarily.  “Fuck.  I’m sorry, I just need--”

Julia felt immediately contrite, still breathless even as she placed a hand atop his back .  “No, I’m sorry, David, that was my fault—”

“No, no, it’s just…I’m still pretty sore,” he said apologetically, waving her off as he slowly stood back to his full height with a sigh, one hand placed on the counter for balance.  The first couple of buttons on his shirt were undone, Julia just barely able to make out the edge of a line of stitches peeking up from beneath the left side of his collar.

Her fingers appeared to have a mind of their own that night, too.  She found herself reaching for the highest clasped button on his shirt, undoing it slowly.  Then undoing another.  And another.

“Julia…?”

She wanted to see it.  Had this burning desire to witness explicitly what he’d been through on her behalf.  Needed to see him healing, his skin mending.  Feel his heart beating strongly beneath firm flesh and warm, dry skin.

David stopped her on the fourth button, shaking his head with eyes that were a touch glassy as his hand encircled her wrist.  “It’s not a pretty sight, Julia,” he murmured, shame coloring his features.

“It’s okay,” she whispered back, feeling a twinge of sympathy low in her belly as he let her wrist go, lowering his gaze as he let her continue.  Julia parted the fabric to reveal a neatly-stitched scar almost 15 centimeters in length running diagonally across his chest, the center line of it red and gently puckered.  Tears unexpectedly pricked her eyes at the sight.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, David,” she whispered softly, trailing her finger in a gentle path alongside the scar as she watched him nod silently.  Her inhibitions went lower still as she endeavored to place a gentle kiss there, and another a little higher, and another at the base of his throat as she nuzzled him beneath his neck…

“Julia.”

“Hmm?”

“I…need you to stop that,” he rasped with some hesitation, to which she raised her head in alarm.  Was she hurting him more?  Taking liberties he didn’t welcome?

David swallowed heavily, answering the question that was obvious in her gaze.  “Not because it doesn’t feel amazing, which it does,” he reassured her.  “But because what little blood I have left is rushing south quickly right now, and I really don’t want to pass out in your kitchen…”

Julia burst out laughing, leaning again into the warm, stubbly plane of his neck before pulling away.  She clearly hadn’t taken his blood circulation into account when she’d started, but obviously that had to be a factor at the moment.  This was definitely too much, too fast…and yet it was evident that a hurdle had been cleared between them;  that the question of more intimacy was no longer a matter of if, but of _when_.  And she couldn’t possibly be more pleased about exploring that prospect if she tried.

“So sorry, sir,” Julia whispered with mock seriousness, pulling away to regard him fully as her fingers made quick work of buttoning him back up.  “You tend to make it difficult to hold back.”

“Sir?  I like that, coming from you.  Very nice,” David confessed with a smile before his gaze turned a little more serious.  “I promise to make this up to you as soon as I’m able, Julia,” he murmured, mouth coming close to hers again. 

Julia closed the distance eagerly, careful to keep a little space between even as her hand came up to caress his strong jaw.  They shared yet another breathless, delicious kiss before she pulled back to look deeply into his eyes, happier than she’d been in years to be in his arms, thanking every single deity she knew that he’d saved her that day.  That he was alive and spared. 

And now their chapter together could start in beautiful, mutual earnest.  Julia could hardly wait to see what was in store.

“I’m holding you to that promise, sir.”

* * *

 


End file.
